Storms
by amberpire
Summary: Jack tastes like peaches. ;Will/Jack;


**Author's Note: **_I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, nor do I make money writing this story. I'm not really sure where this came from, but I decided to just get it out of my brain and let others enjoy it if they may. _

* * *

Jack tastes like peaches. Will isn't sure why he's so surprised by this - he expected rum, or cigar smoke, or perhaps proof that Jack had never cleaned his teeth, but no. He tastes like peaches. He never realized how good of a taste it really was until now. He had a whole new appreciation for the fruit.

Will never knew that fingers could hold so much power, that they could rip off his clothes like they are. But Jack's full of surprises. He always has been, and his hands hold no patience for Will's dizzying mind, tearing away the buttons that hold his shirt together until the garment puddles to the floor. Will nearly trips over it, his eyes screwed shut as Jack kisses him.

Well, it doesn't feel like kissing. Not really, not to Will. Will kisses Elizabeth. It's soft, and the lips are careful and almost hesitant, because one can never be too sure how to kiss someone else. It's gentle and there's the occasional holding of the cheek and the tilting of the head, pressing into the other person's back or neck. Sometimes there's a swift taste of tongue, but it's always brief and then there's that tiny exhale when it's over, and fluttering eyelids.

Jack's not kissing Will so much as he's attacking him with his mouth. Their teeth clash violently, nipping at each others lips, and their tongues seem to battle one another like swords, fighting for dominance. And Jack's hands aren't caressing him - they're ripping, tearing, searching, claiming. They drag over the flesh of his ribs and sink into his back, and Will's heart has never beat so hard, so loud, like it's trying to send out a frantic warning alarm.

Will isn't sure how this even started; he just knew that one minute Jack and him were drinking and the next Jack's hand was skimming up his pant leg. And Will felt a fire spark in his gut that wasn't at all due to liquor consumption. More importantly, he doesn't know when he wanted this to start; Jack's absolutely infuriating. Will can hardly stand him on the best of days. No one can tell for certain if he's lying or not, his faith rests in the hands of whoever he thinks is going to win. His heart is small.

But it beats.

The ship dips as Will's back meets the mattress, Jack climbing over him and kissing him with so much force Will is sure his mouth will simply bruise. He doesn't care, though, because it didn't matter; he'd leave with scars if it meant Jack would just keep touching him. Will doesn't remember when it started, but all that matters is that it did, finally; he ached for Jack's touch, and he has it now.

Jack's beard scratches Will's chin and lips and Will didn't even realize that his hands have started working on their own accord, tearing at the pirate's clothes with just as much ferocity as Jack's. Will's never been so flustered, his arms and legs trembling when they're finally bare, and his earlier drinks make the edges of his vision kind of foggy, like he's dreaming, but there's no way he can mistake these sensations for a vivid dream. It's too real; in fact, he's never felt so real drunk before. Jack's mouth finally detaches from his own and dives for his neck, sucking the flesh between his teeth and bruising it. Will rattles with moans he didn't know he could make, his lungs shattering with his effort to breathe as Jack kisses and licks and bites his chest. Will's arms move, sluggishly trying to do anything of help but Jack's arms are quick to answer, snapping up to circle tight fingers around his wrists. Will hisses as his hands are pinned above his head. His back arches upward, meeting Jack's and the two men are gasping like they swam the Pacific.

Black eyes peer down at him, heavily hooded, and the long, tangled strands of the pirate's hair tickle Will's flustered cheeks. And there's a short moment there that Will thinks with a rushed panic that Jack is sobering up, or obtaining some kind of reason, and before the moment can hold too much opportunity, Will bucks his head forward and captures Jack's lips once again. It's not that Jack has ever fancied the law, or social norms, or reason, but if Will had to settle for a heat of the moment drunken fuck he would, because he knew it might be all he would get.

He focused on how Jack tasted like peaches that night, how his fingers and teeth left bruises littered across his skin, and how when Jack called out Will's name the younger man thought he would spark into flames bright enough to catch eyes from each coast. He had no thoughts, just sensations and feelings, just the sounds Jack made. It was weird, because Will always figured that his chances were slim to none and watching Jack occasionally undress was about all he was going to get, and yet he didn't feel overwhelmed with how lucky he was or anything; he just felt like things were finally straightening out. Like the storm was finally calming.

Because that's all Will's life has been, really. One storm after another. But with each thrust of Jack's hips, and every groan that vibrated his throat, every tug of his hair and bite of his skin and whisper of his name, the clouds were parting; waves were settling. One would think that it would only cause more turmoil for both of them, but they were pirates, were they not? They were known for finding jewels where no one else cared to look.

Jack tastes like peaches. Will rests his head on the pirate's shoulder and relishes in that fact; that someone could look so rough and calloused and downright dirty on the outside and still taste like fruit.


End file.
